Profile II
by FotoBridgeT2
Summary: Sequel to Profile of a Stalker. A slightly more naughty fic maybe even smuttish . Hotch and Emily decide to take things between them one day at a time--but Hotch thinks they should take it one hot night at a time...rated M for obvious reasons...
1. Chapter 1

She wasn't there yet. Hotch sat, stirring the ice in his drink, eyes trained on the door. She wasn't there yet. She said she'd be there at eight—her and JJ—and it was fifteen past that. Emily was always punctual. Fifteen minutes was cause for concern.

As if she heard his worry, a familiar dark head appeared in the doorway to the bar and he relaxed slightly. He watched her turn toward the pregnant blonde behind her. He could tell by her body language that she was laughing and he imagined he could almost hear the sound floating over the bar's conversations. He loved her laugh. He especially loved the way she giggled when he was kissing her. The way he had kissed her two nights ago.

They'd not spoken of that night since, hadn't spoken at all since. In fact, he'd not even seen her. She'd called in with a family emergency. He'd worried, until she'd called Morgan to tell him she'd be back tonight in time for drinks with the team. Said she'd explain what had happened then. Morgan had said she sounded fine, just a bit exasperated. Hotch suspected she'd driven to Maryland on behalf of her mother. He wondered how much had to do with her family and how much had to do with her maybe wanting to avoid him so soon after they'd…_One night at a time, _that's what they'd settled on before he'd left her condo that next morning, to make the familiar walk back to his own place. He'd still worn the sweats Morgan had left at her place; he'd ripped them from his body the instant he'd walked through his front door.

He hadn't wanted to be wearing another man's clothes while smelling like Emily. He'd been strangely reluctant to shower, wanting to still be able to smell her scent on his skin. Who knew if he'd get to experience that sensation again?

He hadn't meant to experience it to begin with, but he couldn't find it within himself to regret it. But he knew she wasn't ready for more, and he'd not pressure her. But, dammit, he'd missed her these past two days.

She approached the table, smiling a greeting at the rest of the team before turning to him. He wondered if he was the only one to catch the slight little hitch in her breathing as she said hello to him.

He scooted over, making room for her on the bench beside him. It felt damned good when she pressed against his side. JJ slid in across from her, laughing when her belly bumped the edge of the table. Hotch and Reid pulled the table a bit more in their direction to give the blonde some more room.

"Get everything taken care of?" Dave asked Emily.

"Yes. For now." Emily rolled her eyes before slipping a hand into the pretzels in front of her and pulling some out to pile on a napkin. She never ate directly out of the bowl, not like the rest of the team. Hotch chalked it up to her OCD tendencies.

"What was it, girl?" Morgan asked.

"My mother's brain is fried." Emily said. "My grandfather fell and my mother had meetings and couldn't stay with him. No one else could, apparently."

"How old is he?" Dave asked.

"Eighty-seven. He didn't appreciate me hovering." Emily said. "But my mother finally hired him a full time nurse, although he didn't like it at all. So I had quite a few ruffled feathers to soothe."

"Well, we missed you. Should have seen Reid on the consult we did yesterday." Morgan teased the youngest member of the team. "Had two drunk college freshman drooling over him in the precinct while _they _waited to be booked."

"It wasn't funny." Reid said, "And Morgan just made it worse."

"Morgan…how often do I have to tell you to be nice to Reid?" Emily snickered, reaching behind Hotch to ruffle the genius's hair. "He's sensitive."

Reid wasn't the only one sensitive, Hotch decided, as he felt her body press briefly against his side. He stilled, then felt her trim body echo the movement. His knee pressed against hers, slowly, firmly…deliberately. Only he heard her breath catch—just the way it had two nights ago. He dropped a hand under the table, the one closest to her.

He ran a finger down the outer edge of her thigh, ghosting over the thin cotton of the black slacks she wore. Her breath released in a slow, low little sigh. She looked at him, quickly. He doubted anyone else saw the slight flush on her cheeks in the dim light of the bar. But she didn't pull her leg away from his.

He took that as all the encouragement he needed.

He decided then and there, that _tonight _was the next night at a time.

Hotch was going home with her tonight…

_**(Profile of A Stalker almost demanded a sequel. It's a darker, hotter fic than most of what I write—if that's possible. There will probably be a LOT of naughty things done…Please understand that with me working eighty hour work weeks at one job alone—I have three—fanfiction updates will be sporadic in nature. So please don't PM me asking for updates—I simply don't have time to answer! But please feel free to let me know what you think…)**_


	2. Chapter 2

Hotch had never been so attuned to someone in his life, and as the evening progressed he was wishing nothing more but to drag her out of their seat and carry her off somewhere. Fifteen minutes would do, he decided. He'd take her behind the building and have her to himself. For just fifteen minutes.

But Emily Prentiss was not the kind of woman a man had a quickie in an alley with. So he could wait.

But it was hard. He watched her as she danced—first with Derek, then with Dave. Laughing, happy, slightly flirty. Beautiful. He spent so much time watching her that it took him nearly two hours to realize Hayley was watching him from a seat two tables away.

When he did realize, he just flat out didn't care.

He didn't want his ex; no, the woman he wanted was currently pressed up against Derek Morgan's chest. Hotch lifted his lip in an unconscious curl. He didn't like that, even though he _knew _there was nothing between Emily and Derek.

Hotch stood, quickly, and made himself cross the dance floor slowly, unhurriedly. He tapped Morgan on the shoulder, and seamlessly cut in. He kept his expression neutral as Derek passed her to him. Then Derek was off, looking for more _appropriate _female companionship. Hotch didn't watch him go, too intent on her.

"Hotch?" She said in a low voice. He had to lean closer to hear, which he did without thought. The music slowed, and he pulled her tighter to him, as close as he could without raising the team's suspicions. He wasn't ready to explain things to _them _yet.

"Hmm?" He tightened the arm he held around her waist, pulling her lower body just a bit closer to his.

"What are you doing?"

"Dancing. Why?" He grinned down at her quickly, letting her know he _knew _what he was doing wasn't merely dancing.

"I don't know. Maybe because in the entire time I've been at the BAU, and all the times we've went out as a group, I've never seen you dance with anyone before." Her words held a bit of a challenge that he thought was sexy as hell. She was one of those women that wouldn't let a man get away with anything. He liked that, a lot.

"Maybe I've decided to change a few things."

"And dancing is one of those things? You going to dance with Dave next?"

"No." Hotch paused. "Dave steps on toes. Derek, maybe. But not Dave."

She laughed then, and Hotch's smile deepened. He squeezed her hand before continuing. "You worried me."

"I did?"

"You disappeared for two days. I wondered if it was something I did." Hotch admitted before spinning her out and back. "Wondered if I made you run."

"Maybe partially." She said, looking away from him. "I was afraid, I guess."

"You don't have to be. One night at a time, remember?"

"Yes." The song was ending, and he stepped back, though he kept her hand tight in his. He could get away with that, he decided, seeing as how the bar was getting much more crowded as second-shifters were getting off work and piling in.

He pulled her through the crowd and back to the table. They resumed their seats and he dropped a hand behind her back, under the table's edge where no one could see, and scooted her ever so closer to his side. He felt her lined up perfectly with his body. He then dropped his hand to clench around her thigh. He left it there, letting her _feel _him. Letting her know his intent for the evening.

She didn't say much the rest of the night, but she didn't pull away from him, or move to pull his hand away from her. He took that as a good sign, and he kept one eye on her for the entire evening.

They didn't dance again—he didn't trust himself to keep it platonic in front of the team, or the other agents he recognized floating around the bar. But when it was all said and done, Hotch knew he'd be taking her home tonight, and _she _knew it now, too.

His profiler mind cataloged all her sighs and movements, his male mind cataloged her alluring scent, and warm hip pressed against him. By the time JJ and the rest were ready to call it a night, his body was strung taut, and he knew he'd be pouncing on her at the first available opportunity. He didn't know if he'd be able to wait until they reached her condo.

But his place was closer.

He motioned the waitress over, and hurriedly took care of the entire team's tab, amidst protests that he waved away. "My treat."

He didn't want to wait long enough for the waitress to run six or seven separate tallies. And besides, he wanted to pay for _hers. _It was primitive, he knew, but he wanted to be able to take care of her in any little way he could. Even if it just meant paying for the one lone beer she'd nursed all night. And the nachos she'd shared with JJ and Reid.

Hotch had been strung too tightly to even think of eating—and he'd wanted to be completely clear-headed for after they left the bar, so he'd forgone any more alcohol than that one drink he'd ordered upon arriving.

He wanted no excuses for what they were going to do—as soon as he got her completely alone. Morgan seemed to want to linger—and he was Reid's ride; he chattered, monopolizing Emily's attention, and Hotch got impatient. They were the last four of the group remaining, and to Hotch enough was enough. "Emily, you're on my way, I'll walk you home. Morgan, Reid, see you Monday morning."

"Yeah, man. Come on, kid." Morgan seemed blithely oblivious to Hotch's temper and it took another five minutes before he and Reid left the bar.

Finally, though, Hotch could turn to Emily. "You ready?"

"Yes." She said, the word slightly huskier than her normal speech. He looked at her, seeing the heat in her dark eyes. She knew how he was feeling, knew what he wanted, and she _still _stood there, waiting for him.

"Good." Hotch smiled down at her, feeling the predatory grin stretching his lips.

She swallowed, a convulsive reaction that showed just exactly how attuned to his wants she was.


	3. Chapter 3

He held her hand as they walked quickly down the street toward his place. It was on the way to hers, but he had no intention of passing it by. He had one thought, and one thought only. Getting her naked as quick as possible.

But then they approached his building, and she resisted slightly. He turned toward her.

"I like my own bed." Her voice was full of candor, which he admired, and a tiny hint of nerves that he struggled to identify the cause of. Then it occurred to him—he had her unsure.

He wrapped his hand even tighter around hers, then pulled it up to his mouth, kissing it softly. "Ok."

"But hurry, right?" This time her voice held humor and he felt his own lips curve in response. He hastened his step.

"Something like that." It was the last he spoke until they reached her door. He pushed her against it, kissed her quickly before speaking again. "Keys?"

"Right front pocket." Her voice was husky and he shivered, his hand traveling down over her side toward the pocket in question. He found the keys but didn't pull them free. His fingers slid past the metal, warmed from her body, and caressed her hip through the material of her pants. Then he quickly pulled the keys free, he reached around her and opened the door.

They barely made it inside, stopping against her immaculate granite counter. He wrapped both hands around her waist and lifted, setting her on the cool counter before covering her mouth with his.

Then his fingers went to the buttons of her barely-there blouse, slipping them hurriedly free. He dropped the material casually on her kitchen floor. His shirt soon followed, and he felt her heated skin pressed against his.

He wrapped her legs around his waist and lifted, intent on carrying her up the stairs to the bedroom he'd yet to see. Last time they'd never made it off her couch. This time he was determined to be different.

He wanted to do things entirely right this time, and that meant having the room to _move. _

As he walked the short distance to her stairs she pulled his head down to hers, running her tongue over his lips. She tasted like Mexican chili's and beer and Emily, a strangely intoxicating taste. Hotch wanted more. He wanted to taste her everywhere.

He fully intended to taste her everywhere.

They didn't make it passed the middle stair.

As much as he hated to admit it, carrying a woman up a flight of stairs was a bit much for a man his age, and he paused to take a break. He leaned her back against the steps, just long enough to catch his breath.

Then she stole the air right from his lungs with one hot look and a quick, hot little hand that shot out to unbuckle the navy trousers he wore.

"God, Em!" He rushed the words against the skin of her neck, before running his teeth over the soft skin. He nipped, probably deeper than he should have. She just moaned, and he _knew _immediately that she _did _like it a bit harder than Hayley ever had.

He found that idea incredibly hot.

Her hand tightened, bringing forth a hot moan from him. He ran his tongue over the fresh nip on her neck before slowly moving up toward her ear. He bit her there, softly, before whispering just exactly what he was going to do to her.

If he ever got her up those damned stairs.

He hadn't realized he'd said that lost thought aloud until she laughed, that low, wicked sound that tightened his gut even tighter.

"Who said we have to get up the stairs?" She asked, pushing the pants off _his _hips before he could respond.

"So you want to, right here?" He asked as his own hands went to the zipper of her black pants. He paused in pulling them off to slip the heels from her feet.

"Unless you want to…wait…until we make it all the way up _there?" _She arched her neck, looking up the rest of the way to the second floor.

Hotch's attention was diverted from the conversation, seeing the redness of his bite on the pale skin of her neck. He leaned down and repeated the action on the other side. Now the sides matched, and he thrilled seeing that he'd marked her—_branded her—_in two places.

It was a clear claiming that any other male would understand.

It had become abundantly clear that, as far as Hotch was concerned, she was his—and he wanted to make that clear to every guy she'd come into contact with.

"Here's good." He told her, whispering the words harshly against her ear as his hands started exploring the flesh he'd revealed. Emily's skin was smooth, soft, supple, perfect. It felt good and it tasted good. And he took his time reveling in it. In her. In all of her.

When he caught his breath, he laughed, actually laughed. His pants were doing a bad impression of the splits—one leg still wrapped around his ankle and the other trailing down the steps between them and the bottom. Emily's rested over the railing—where he distinctly remembered throwing them.

It took him a moment to remember where their shirts had ended up. He didn't really care. "Em? You ok?"

"Hmm. Better." She opened her eyes for a moment then closed them again. She stretched tentatively against him.

His knee between her thighs was probably the only thing keeping her from sliding down the steps. He nudged her with that knee, thrilled when he was rewarded with another moan.

"I told myself I wasn't going to do this again." She whispered, though her hands tightened around his waist.

"You had?" Hotch hoped his voice didn't reveal the sudden fear that tightened his chest.


	4. Chapter 4

"You're ok with this, now, right?" Hotch's breath had backed up in his throat. "I didn't inadvertently pressure you tonight, did I?"

"Hotch…if I didn't want you to do this," One delicate hand waved to encompass the stairs and them, "I wouldn't—you wouldn't be here, right now."

"So what changed your mind?" He asked, trying to straighten his leg when it cramped up. He was definitely too old for stair-acrobatics. Even if it was with _her. _

"I don't know. Having you pressed up against me? Being tired of being alone, maybe? Hormones versus head?"

Her voice rang with an uncertainty that told him the truth. She was lying. "Emily? The truth."

"I don't know the truth, right now." She squirmed beneath him, inadvertently rubbing against his groin. He felt the inevitable reaction taking hold. "This is so complicated, Hotch."

"But I thought we decided one night at a time." He reminded her. He reached a hand out and grabbed her hip, pulling her closer to his lower body. He ran a string of kisses over her forehead then backed up, just a bit.

"And how long will that last, before..one…of us…starts wanting more?" She asked, bringing her feet up to rest on the step below his knee. She sat up, her nose an inch from his. "I'm not made for casual affairs, Hotch. Never have been. And when you combine that with our job, our positions—this is the clichéd recipe for disaster. A big one."

"I know. But when I'm not with you, it's all I can think about." He told her, brutally honest with himself and her. They both deserved that. "Even at work. I look for you. Watch you. Want to drag you into my office and lock the door, and then I want to open that door and shout to every other man in the building that you are mine. I've never had that happen to me before. It's exciting and frightening for me as well, sweetheart. I don't think I can stop. I don't think I want to."

"I know." She whispered. He ran one eye down her length. He'd gotten her completely naked, he realized. She sat before him, apparently completely comfortable naked with him, but emotional involvement was apparently enough to terrify her.

He wondered, then, just what had happened in the past to make her so closed off. Was it just the product of her mother's career and politics, or was it something more?

He wanted to know the answer to that and every other question he would ever have about her.

It wasn't just one night at a time for him. He'd known that before she'd even arrived at the bar this evening. _Slow, _he reminded himself, _go real slow. Don't frighten her._

"One night, Emily. Let's not worry about anything else. Just know that this isn't just a casual thing for me. Far from it, but I'm not going to put any pressure on you, am not going to take anything you're not ready to give me."

She just looked at him, nodded. "Well, how about we clean up our mess, and I show you the shower. Because I think I definitely need one."

"That's doable." He smiled, bending down to pick up his pants. He folded them neatly, hanging them off his arm. She padded back down the stairs and grabbed their shirts and other various pieces of clothing, carrying them to the washer and dryer behind the French doors in the kitchen. She sat them neatly, the move shouting to him obsessive compulsive.

He smiled. Her need for details was almost…cute…he decided.

The fact that she walked around naked in her condo was more than cute. It was downright hot. He stepped up behind her, one hand wrapping around her shoulder, the other wrapping around her stomach. He pulled her back against his chest, then nudged her in an awkward crawl toward her window.

The monument stood out against the night sky.

He knew from intimate study that her windows were tinted, that only a vague outline could be seen from the outside—and even then only when the sun was shining directly on the glass.

So he didn't worry about anyone on the street below seeing them.

"Watch out the window, Em. What do you see?" He whispered the words against her shoulder, then bit—remembering that the woman in his arms liked it a bit rougher.

"Hmm? What am I looking for?" Her head arched back.

"Do you see the world?" He ran his tongue over her collarbone once, then twice. "Well, as long as we're in here, nothing out there can touch us. In here—it's just you and me, and what we do to each other. For each other. With each other. No one, nothing else exists in here. Just me and you and how we make each other feel."

As he spoke he ran his hand down her body, starting with her breasts and crossing over her stomach, ending near her most vulnerable spot. She arched against him, moaning.

He had her trapped there, between his hot body and the cool glass, with the monument shining in the distance. He took her there, remembering all the nights he'd sat on that bench below, wondering what it would be like to be the man to share that spot with her.

Now he knew. And if he had his way, he'd spend every night he could with her. Starting one night at a time.

But for now, he'd go slow, convince her with his words, his hands, his body, and most importantly—his actions—that there was nothing on Earth he wanted more than he wanted her.


	5. Chapter 5

"Here, in this harsh light, you have the advantage…" Viper was looking right at him, and Hotch wondered if the creep had seen what the rest of the BAU had failed to. if just by looking at them, Paul Thomas _knew _that Hotch had had his subordinate in all the varied ways possible for a man and a woman?

Hotch's frown deepened as the man continued. "Meet me on my turf…oh…the things I could make you do…"

Hotch wanted to knock those ridiculous earrings right out of the man's ears. But he restrained himself, instead handing him a card with his contact information on it.

"Please, tell me we are not giving up on that guy."

"We're just getting started." Hotch was careful to keep a good six inches between her hip and his, conscious that Morgan walked behind them. What he really wanted to do was reach over and wrap his hand around the back of her neck and pull her closer. Make it clear that Viper should keep his fangs far, far away from one Emily Prentiss—if he knew what was good for him.

Only the thought that Emily wouldn't appreciate his caveman-side while on the clock kept him in check.

But it was hard.

But he also understood what Viper saw when he looked at her. That suit, buttoned just under her breasts, did nothing to conceal the body beneath, but only highlighted the suit's contents. Her heels made her legs look so long, and Hotch nearly groaned remembering how they'd felt wrapped around his hips—on the stairs, in her luxurious shower, with the mirrors that had steamed so early on in their first shower together.

Indignation had a flush on her cheeks and even her hair seemed to echo her feelings. Hotch fought a smile.

He'd never realized it, not once in that first eighteen months they'd worked together—not even when she'd practically laid into him over politics—that Emily Prentiss was a passionate woman.

But Hotch was always one to own up to his mistakes, and that was one mistake he couldn't believe he'd made. Because Emily was an extremely passionate woman. And some of the things that passion made her do, had him waking from a sound sleep in a cold—erotic—sweat. Especially when in random hotel rooms, and beds they'd not yet shared.

But they hadn't quite crossed that line, yet. She wasn't ready for sharing a hotel room. An occasional over-nighter at her place—always hers, never his—was apparently one thing. But sleeping together in a hotel room while on a case was more than _she _was ready for. But he knew he'd be discreet. But, dammit, it was hard—_he _was hard—just at the mere thought that she was just down the hall, or one floor below, or in the room across the hall.

Hotch ruthlessly shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind and concentrated on the case. And then Dave looked at him and said something about there being another angle. Morgan and Reid—discussing how it would be best to bait Viper with a challenge, someone they knew he was already attracted to.

She'd looked at him for help. That had in part thrilled him and dismayed him. The lover was thrilled, the supervisor—knew the other men were right.

And like she'd said…this was so going to suck.

A few hours later and she and Jordan returned from their shopping trip. He was lucky to catch her alone in the locker room.

Only to have her take him to task over Agent Todd.

What he wanted to do was a) make sure she was absolutely ok with using herself as bait and b) get a peek at what she chose to wear in order to capture the interest of that snake.

Instead—_she _wanted to talk about Agent Todd.

He humored her, not blind to the approving smile she'd sent him after he'd asked what she had in mind.

That look let him know she knew what was currently in his mind as she stood in front of him, one button unbuttoned and hinting at the cleavage he'd explored so thoroughly just the night before.

"Hotch." She'd chuckled, that wicked little giggle she used in the bedroom a lot. "Eyes up here, sir."

"Yes, Agent Prentiss." His words were droll. "Whatever you say. I'm, uh, going to let you go get ready. Before I do something that get's us both into trouble."

"That's probably not a bad idea. And Jordan will need to get ready." Emily said. "So you had better go."

Hotch thought it over for one quick moment before stepping closer, stepping into her space, stepping past the appropriate supervisor/subordinate boundary. Her eyes widened and darted past him to the open door. "Hotch—"

He covered her mouth, catching the last half of his name into his own mouth. He indulged himself, quickly, hotly, deeply. She tasted good, like the peppermint candy he'd watched her filch from Morgan. He tangled one hand in that hair of hers, holding her against him, holding her still. He kissed her for several long moments before a sound had him jerking away.

It was nothing, just the heater whirling on above them.

"Hotch, you like the excitement of it, don't you?" She whispered, her cheeks pink and her lips swollen. "An illicit office affair."

"It's more than an affair for me, Emily." He told her. "And I think it is for you, too."

"Yes." She didn't elaborate. "You'd better get out of here, before someone starts to wonder about what we're doing in here."

"I know what I'd like to do in here." He told her, using his normal 'at work' voice. He didn't miss the way she shivered. Her hands rose to the buttons of her blouse.

"Go." She smiled, wicked. "Sir. I have to get ready to seduce Viper."

Hotch growled, actually growled his displeasure at that. "Curls. And, Emily? Wear that dress for me once we're back in Washington?"

"Of course, sir. Whatever you say." She smiled, licked her lip, "Now _go!"_


End file.
